We continued to talk back and forth for some time but to little purpose, although I endeavored to lead the conversation so as to learn more definitely the exact situation of the two prisoners.  Whether Tim was naturally cautious, or had been warned against talking with strangers by Kirby, I do not know, but, in spite of all my efforts, he certainly proved extremely close-mouthed, except when we drifted upon other topics in which I felt no interest.  He was not suspicious of me, however, and lingered on in his seat beside the rail, expectorating into the running water below, until Mapes suddenly appeared on deck, and compelled me to resume work.  The two disappeared together, seeking a friendly drink at the bar, leaving me alone, and industriously employed in brightening up the front of the cabin.  I was still engaged at this labor, not sorry to be left alone, when a cautious whisper, sounding almost at my very ear, caused me to glance up quickly, startled at the unexpected sound.  I could perceive nothing, although I instantly felt convinced that whispering voice had issued from between the narrow slats defending the small stateroom window.  No one was in sight along the deck, and the rag I was wielding hung limp in my hand.

“Who was it that spoke?” I ventured, the words barely audible.

“Ah did; the prisoner in the stateroom.  Have both those men gone?”

“Yes; I am here alone.  You are a woman?  You are Rene Beaucaire?”

“No, Ah am not her; but Ah thought from the way yer questioned thet brute, yer was interested.  Ah know whar Rene Beaucaire is.”

“You know?  Tell me first, who you are?”

“Elsie Clark.  Ah am a mulatto, a free negress.  Ah bin helpin’ Massa Shrunk, an’ a cookin’ fer him.  Yer know whut it wus whut happened down thar?”

“I know part of it, at least—­that Shrunk has been killed.  I am not a steamboatman.  I was at Shrunk’s cabin, and found the bodies.  Tell me exactly what occurred there.”

“Whut’s yer name?”

“Steven Knox; I am a soldier.  Rene must have told you about me.”

“No, sah; she never done tol’ me nuthin’.  Ah didn’t much mor’n see her enyhow, fur as thet goes.”

“Not see her!  Then she is not confined there with you?”

“Wiv me?  Dar ain’t nobody confined yer wiv me.  Ah just ain’t set eyes on nobody since Ah done got on board, ’cept de cook.  Ah reckon dem white men aim fer ter tote me soufe, an’ sell me fer a slave; dat’s why Ah’s locked up yere dis way.  But Ah sure does know whar dis yer Rene Beaucaire wus.”

“Where?”

“Wal’, sah, it wus ’bout like dis.  Long ’bout three o’clock in de manning, ol’ Bill Sikes cum up frum de lower pint, a drivin’ his kivered wagon, an’ made Massa Shrunk git up out er bed fer ter git him anodder team o’ hosses.  Den dey done routed me up fer ter hustle up sum grub.”

“Sikes; who is Sikes?”